“Son, let me tell you something. When my children were little, I worked from sunrise until dark. I thought providing food and a home made me a good father.”
He paused.
“Once, my daughter had a school play. She begged me to attend, but I stayed on the farm. Thirty years later, she told me she’d spent the entire performance watching the door, hoping I’d appear.”
I lowered my head. I remembered that evening.
Dad looked directly at Mike.
“Children don’t always remember what you bought them. But they remember who showed up when they needed someone.”
Mike covered his face.
Then Emma whispered something nobody expected.
“Do you know who was supposed to receive my rose tonight?”
Mike shook his head.
“You.”
The entire gymnasium went silent.
“I planned to tell everyone that although you weren’t my biological father, you were the only dad I’d ever truly known. But then you told me I wasn’t yours.”
